A trip to Berkeley and...

A farewell of sorts.

The trip began with Ila in her longest cartrip ever. She started snoozing in my arms as part of her regular afternoon siesta. We hurriedly grabbed the window of opportunity to tuck her into the carseat in the already packed car and headed off on our trip to housesit in a the big city, or near it, at Doug and Susan's warm and cozy home in Berkeley. Doug and Susan were even more daring, taking their son who I've sadly dubbed "Jacko" and who is only 3 weeks older than Ila, clear across Nevada to camp in the Ruby Mountains where we used to backpack as kids. Now that takes gumption. I'm impressed. We're inspired. But I digress.

In Ila's one hour and fifteen minute trip, I slipped my hand under her sleeping, slumped-to-the-side head, so she might imagine she was napping next to me at home. Every once in a while we'd be jostled by a bump in the road, and the little napper's eyes would fly open. So I'd quickly shut my lids and yawn a big dramatic superyawn. And each time a few seconds later I'd peek at her, to see what the little napper had done. And each time she'd gone right back to napping just as I'd hoped. How convenient it was for my eardrums (and heart) that she started bawling only after we stopped the car and shut off the engine outside of Doug and Sue's house.

The farewell was a farewell to my job at the world's biggest progressive phone company in San Francisco. You've heard of it. You know it. It was so nice to come back, everyone I saw seemed genuinely happy to see us, me and Ila. Ila was held by so many adoring arms, Wendy's, Liza's, Christa's, Nancy's, Bethany's, Janet's, Sharon's and on and on. I officilly resigned about a week ago, and cleared out my office, or cube rather -- that's one thing I won't miss, working in a cube*-- that day, and that was that.
* how can it be a cube if it only has 5 sides?

And then back in Berkeley, the Auties descended. I loved how in India, any woman of childbearing age who is not related to a child seems to be dubbed an "Aunty." I'm really not sure the criteria Indians use to betitle one with Aunty, but to this old gal there are a few women who are being bestowed the title of "Aunty" whether they like it or not. There's Jone, the oldest friend I've got. Heck, I've known her since she was about 10? And I've seen her sing the praises of George Burns, covererd in corn paraphenalia, and shared almost every Christmas Eve I can remember with her. And there's Aunty Julie -- whith whom I have the twin delight of having had an attempted pick up by a Hasidic man in Brooklyn, and who just lovesssssssssss Ila. And Riquelle the Ubergoddess. They all are Aunties, as I think Ila should have role models of interesting women, possibly more interesting than dear old mom.